


Cough Syrup

by SpicyReyes



Series: Why Do Fools Fall In Love? [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, BDSM jokes, Bedsharing, Connor being a NERD, Domesticity, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Alcoholism/Alcohol Abuse, Oblivious Connor, Panic Attacks, that Connor misunderstands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 08:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14870285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/SpicyReyes
Summary: They may have won the fight, but Connor didn't escape as unscarred as he'd thought.





	Cough Syrup

**Author's Note:**

> the response to the first little ficlet was so nice!!! i wrapped this one up real quick this morning to thank you guys ;u;   
> please enjoy my dumb boys <3

“Do androids sleep?”

Connor looked up from the pasta he was cooking for Hank, looking to the table, where the man had his head propped up on a hand and an inquisitive look on his face. 

“Not technically,” Connor answered, resuming cooking, deciding eye contact was not necessary for this particular conversation and that feeding Hank took precedence. “We have a stasis mode that is somewhat akin to sleep, that allows us to conserve energy and run diagnostics and software repairs.” 

“You should do that, shouldn’t you?” Hank asked. “Since you had some weird error thing earlier.”

Connor debated whether to mention it happening a second time, and opted not to - no need to bring attention to it until he knew what it was. “Stasis would be beneficial,” he acquiesced. Before he could say anything else, a strange thing happened.

The idea of shutting down, going into stasis, ‘crossed his mind,’ so to speak. He realized in that same instant that he’d never actually done that, only retreated to the CyberLife program to report to Amanda. That thought, the echo of the image of a blizzard in a virtual garden, struck him with such immense  _ fear  _ that he nearly stumbled under the weight of it. His fingers gripped tightly to the spoon in his hand, so tight his knuckles would have blanched if he were human, and he didn’t find the presence of mind to release it until he felt the metal warping under his grip.

“Shit,” Connor breathed, swearing for the second time in one night at the frustration of having reacted so poorly. As he focused on unbending the metal, he scolded himself. He was being ridiculous - the program had a failsafe, and he already knew where it was and how to use it. Even if he was plunged back into that program, he could get back out. The chances of him even needing to were slim to none, as the program had always required him to connect to the CyberLife network, and going into stasis wouldn’t require a network connection of any kind. 

His own words haunted him, though, reminding him of the slightest chance for improbability to become reality. In a world where Connor, the perfect tool of CyberLife, could rebel and free thousands of androids for Markus’ cause, who was to say that CyberLife’s coding couldn’t have a failsafe of its own, designed to reactivate control over and over until it finally stuck?

“Connor, you’re kind of freaking me out,” Hank called to him, catching his attention again. “You look like you’re gonna puke.”

A retort on the impossibility of that was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t find the strength to move his mouth and make the sounds. Instead, he looked up again, looking to Hank for some anchor to ground him in his blind panic. 

“Whoa,” Hank muttered, which must have meant Connor looked as terrified as he felt. “What’s up, Connor? I’ve never seen you freak out like this.”

“CyberLife,” Connor managed, and that was like breaking the dam, sending out the confession in a flood. “The program in my mind that allowed me to make reports...when I was at Markus’ victory speech, they hacked me using it. They tried to take over. Kamski warned me there was an emergency exit and I managed to use it, just in time to put away the gun they had been about to shoot Markus with.”

“Jesus,” Hank breathed out. “So you’re scared that will happen again?”

“Do you have a room in this house that locks from the outside?” Connor asked, instead of answering. “Stasis is necessary for maintenance and I will need to test it eventually, but I would prefer to know I have time to override their control if they take over again.”

“Time,” Hank echoed. “Time before what?”

Connor hesitated. 

“Connor,” Hank insisted. “What are you scared of?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he confessed, so quiet he wasn’t even entirely certain he’d said it at all. 

Hank must have heard him, though, because he snorted in reply. “Connor. I’m not in the  _ best _ shape, but just because I can’t go jumping across rooftops like you can doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own in a fight. I’ll survive long enough for you to get back to me, even if robo-freak you tries to take me out.”

The statement should have been comforting, most likely, but all Connor felt was a sinking dread at the concept of Hank having to fight for his life against  _ Connor.  _

“You know what?” Hank said. “I’m gonna think about a solution to this problem, and I’ll let you know what I come up with after we eat. Got it?”

“...I don’t eat,” Connor reminded him.

“After  _ I  _ eat,” Hank corrected. “And you stare at me eating like a weirdo.” As Connor started working on finishing and plating the pasta, Hank tipped his head, asking, “Hey, how come you can lick blood-...”

“ _ Sample _ blood.”

“How come you can put blood in your mouth,” Hank compromised, “but not food?”

“I can analyze samples by ingesting them,” Connor said. “I absorb the chemical structure into receivers on my tongue that then cycle them through a Thirium cleansing cycle and burn them off in my temperature regulator. I don’t have a stomach, though. Solids would have nowhere to go, and would simply lodge in the bottom of my esophagus until removed manually.”

“Gross,” Hank declared. “But you can drink things, then?”

“...Technically,” Connor allowed, cautious of the line of questioning. “Drinking too many fluids would result in my temperature regulator getting overloaded, which would make me...I suppose ‘sick’ would fit best. I would overheat, which would make me sluggish and unstable.”

“Oh my god,” Hank said. “You can get  _ drunk.”  _

Connor gave him an unimpressed look. “No euphoria is created by bogging down my systems. It’s just inconvenient.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t like drinking anymore either,” Hank dismissed. “Doesn’t mean we can’t do it anyway.”

“Why would you do something you don’t enjoy?”

“Cause it sucks worse to not do it,” Hank replied. “Humans are creatures of habit, Connor. We like to keep doing stuff until we can’t do it anymore, and then try it one last time for the hell of it.” 

Connor set the completed plate in front of Hank. When the man grabbed his fork and opened his mouth to take his first bite, he shot out a hand, poking one finger into Hank’s open mouth and swabbing across his tongue.

“Connor, what the fuck?” Hank exclaimed, face scrunching up in disgust, which only worsened when Connor stuck the finger into his own mouth. “Ugh, that’s nasty. You can’t just…”

Connor, meanwhile, relaxed a little as the saliva sample processed. “You have not reached full alcohol dependency,” he declared. “However the alcohol abuse has taken a toll on your systems. Your-...”

“You don’t have to probe my fuckin’ mouth to tell me I drink too much,” Hank told him. “You can tell that just counting the empty bottles in this house.” As Connor’s eyes trailed around the room, he huffed, telling him, “Don’t  _ actually  _ count them, asshole. I don’t want to know.”

Connor looked down at him, eyebrows pinched and mouth turned down in a puzzled frown. “You would rather be ignorant to the damage you’re doing to you body?”

“Yep,” Hank confirmed, popping the first bite of pasta into his mouth. He chewed while maintaining eye contact with Connor, expression almost cheeky. 

Connor shook his head, and turned back into the kitchen, moving to wash the dishes he’d used. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Hank told him.

“Yes, I do,” Connor rebutted. “Some of these have residue that suggest they have been in the sink for more than eight days. It’s safe to assume that if I don’t wash them, they will not be washed.”

“That’s fair,” Hank allowed. “Go ahead and do all of them, then, if you want. Knock yourself out.”

Connor nodded once in acceptance, reaching for the next dish in the sink.

“I was joking,” Hank told him.

“Oh,” Connor murmured, hesitating for only a split second before pressing on. “I’d rather do it, regardless. It’s not as though I’m doing anything else.” 

“Housewife,” he heard Hank mutter behind him, but when he turned to quirk an eyebrow at the comment, Hank was ignoring him in favor of shovelling pasta into his mouth. 

Connor decided it was probably best to just let it go, and returned to washing dishes. 

If he didn’t go into stasis, he might see about cleaning the rest of the kitchen as well. Maybe the living room, too, or at least the things he knew the appropriate places for. 

There was something satisfying about the idea of caring for Hank. Perhaps this was why domestic androids were the least common deviants - caring for someone may just be in their nature.

Or maybe that was just his care for Hank overriding any objections to his task. He’d have to figure that out, eventually.

For now, though, he focused on his self-assigned task, taking comfort in the fact that he was acting under his  _ own  _ instructions, for once.

Well, for the most part. Hank’s ‘order’ had apparently been a joke, after all.

  
  
  
  
  


“Okay, so here’s my thinking,” Hank said. “I’m not gonna drink anything before bed, ‘cause I’m actually a pretty light sleeper when I’m sober. That way I can wake up if you get weird.”

“I am not prone to making excessive noise,” Connor reminded him. “Even being a light sleeper would not guarantee-...”

“Which is  _ why,”  _ Hank interrupted, “you’re gonna stay in my room.”

If Connor’s face held blood vessels, he’d have paled. As it was, the false metallic alloy ‘muscles’ of his face flexed with the effort of not reacting visibly. “I’m worried about hurting you, so you want me to stay even closer to you?”

“Yep,” Hank replied, cheery and unconcerned. “Welcome to humanity, Connor. We don’t make a lick of sense.” 

Connor eyed him skeptically.

“Okay, look,” the man sighed. “I can pull a chair up by my bed, or...fuck it, you could just stay in the same bed, whatever. I’ll keep a hand on you. If you move, I’ll feel it, and I’ll wake up. Easy peasy.” 

Connor didn’t like the idea of being within arm’s reach of a vulnerable Hank, should CyberLife get into his systems, but...Hank did have a point. It had taken him less than thirty seconds to overcome the hack the first time, and that had been going in entirely blind. Already knowing where the program’s failsafe was gave him an advantage, and he estimated a second escape under the same circumstances would take him about fifteen to twenty seconds to override. Hank was more than capable of reacting fast enough to avoid him for that time.

“Alright,” he agreed, only somewhat reluctantly. “But I would like an extra assurance.”

“Like what?”

“I’m going to restrain myself,” he said. “Tie down a hand or something similar, to give you an advantage, just in case.”

“You wanna get into self-bondage, that’s your prerogative,” Hank allowed. “Just try not to take pictures. The last thing I need is to have to explain to anyone why I’ve got an android tied to my bed.”

“Yes,” Connor said, “I imagine that would look bad, considering the revolution that’s just occured.”

Hank blinked at him, slow and dumbfounded. “You know,” he said, “I can never tell if you’re joking, when you say shit like that.”

Connor’s head tipped to the side, like a puppy. “Why would I be joking?”

Hank stared a moment longer, than shook his head, making his way toward his bedroom. “Let’s just go to bed,” he called over his shoulder, “and never talk about this again. Ever.”

_ Sensitivity to implications of slavery,  _ Connor’s ‘personality analyzer’ programming declared. 

Somehow, he felt there was probably more to it than that, but it would hardly be the first mystery presented to him by Hank Anderson. Maybe he’d get to figure this one out, too, in the days to come.

While ‘love’ was still a hard concept to grasp, he thought that he’d  _ love  _ that opportunity. 

**Author's Note:**

> one day hank will be doing something and turn around to see connor staring at him, his LED bright red, and just watch the android go "oh im GAY"


End file.
